


The Darkness of the Whole World

by rei_c



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anti-Donald Trump, Current Events, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Fear, Hanukkah, Jewish Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Politics, References to Depression, Supportive Derek Hale, Supportive Sheriff Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: "We could put up the decorations tomorrow," Derek says. "Or I could do it on Monday while you're at school.""Not -- not this year," Stiles says.or,Stiles would normally be going crazy with the decorations and the food and the parties. This year he -- is not.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 32
Kudos: 238





	The Darkness of the Whole World

**Author's Note:**

> "The darkness of the whole world cannot swallow the glowing of a candle." -Robert Altinger
> 
> (I debated writing this. I debated posting this. It is sad. It is also very real. I'd apologise for feeling the way I do but with apologies come admittances and sometimes the truth is not a safe thing to shout from the rooftops. But I am sorry.)

"We should decorate," Derek says. 

It's December 7th, just barely a week after Thanksgiving; the house is quiet and the bedroom is dark. Stiles, frowning, scratches at the itch of the tattoo on his forearm, phantom prickling under the ink that's been healed for two months. This one always seems to irritate him, never seems settled the way the others do. 

"Yeah," he says. He knows he sounds hesitant, knows that Derek's been expecting Stiles to start pulling boxes out of the attic and garage for days, knows that his reluctance has been noted not only by Derek, but by his dad as well. "I guess." 

There's a long pause before Derek says, "You know you can tell me anything." 

Stiles leans over, kisses Derek's cheek, then rolls to his side and faces the window, Derek at his back. "Yeah," he says. "I know." 

\--

No one's come out and said anything to him but Stiles doesn't need a face-to-face confrontation to read the signs. The neighbours to their left have big 'TRUMP/PENCE' stickers on each of their vehicles. The neighbours to the right sometimes make a comment on the newspaper headlines when they grab them from the mailbox in the morning. Stiles has seen a couple trucks with Confederate flag bumper stickers around and while no one here's come out as a member of the Proud Boys he wouldn't be surprised to know that there's a group of them in town. 

Last month, someone called in a bomb threat to the synagogue Stiles goes to on the High Holy Days. In October, his dad posted deputies outside of the temple doors during Yom Kippur services. 

Beacon Hills has never been very overtly religious and they've seemed liberal enough on the surface but the past few years have been -- difficult. It's not that Stiles is ashamed to be Jewish, because he's not. 

He's afraid. 

\--

It starts like this: Donald Trump gets elected. Well. That's not how it starts. It started a long time ago. That's just how it surfaced. Anti-Semitism was kept out of sight for decades, was something to be spoken of with like-minded people, not out in public for all and sundry to hear. Jewish refugees being turned away, America First and the German-American Bund and Henry Ford -- Stiles was raised on the truth of his people's fight for survival even though other kids never learned about this chapter of America's swept-under-the-table history. When his mother got sick, he and his dad prayed -- a _lot_ \-- and when their prayers didn't work and she died anyway, driven mad and full of despair, they both kind of gave up on anything that so much as smelled of religion or higher powers or grand plans. 

Derek's the one who brought him back. Derek's the one who opened the boxes that Stiles was getting ready to move from his dad's attic to the loft. Derek's the one who pulled out his mother's menorah and his grandmother's memory quilt and his dad's kippah and the tallit that his babcia embroidered for him before she died. 

"I didn't know you were Jewish," Derek had said, when Stiles saw the items of a life half-lived spread out on the floor. 

"I'm not," Stiles had said. "Not -- I didn't -- it's complicated." 

He'd turned around and left. Derek had packed everything back up. They didn't talk about it for months. 

Back at school that year, trying to juggle a teaching degree with his emissary studies, Stiles had hesitantly picked up a couple classes at the Hebrew school by campus. He taught himself how to cook all the food he remembered his mother making. He had a halting phone call with his dad. Six months later, he had his first bar mitzvah and that December, he lit the candles every night, Derek by his side. Stiles settled into his Jewishness -- even though he's mostly non-practicing. 

These days, he spends more time complaining about the third graders he teaches than running around defending the territory. He's calmer, the energetic twist of his magic channelled across his skin rather than bubbling inside of him, and he likes his routine, likes the stability of the pack, loves Derek with all his heart. 

But then Trump got elected. Synagogues around the world started burning down. Charlottesville happened. Muslims were banned from entering the country and Hispanic children were put in cages. And even though Stiles has lived in Beacon Hills his entire life, even though he knows pretty much everyone in town, he's -- careful. Suspicious, even. He can read between the lines, but then the lines starting blowing up: Pittsburgh last year, San Diego in April, Halle two months ago. 

Stiles is used to keeping secrets from his neighbours. He just never thought that secret would be _him_. 

\--

Another week goes by. December 14th, eight days before Hanukkah, and the decorations are still in the attic, still in boxes. Stiles stands at the front window and looks around the cul-de-sac. The Christmas lights are beautiful. So are the trees that he can see through open curtains. The Butlers' blow-up Santa -- with accompanying reindeer -- is a little over the top, but the kids love it. 

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' waist, rests his cheek on Stiles' shoulder, face turned to Stiles' neck. "I love you," Derek murmurs. 

"Love you, too," Stiles says. Sometimes his heart aches with how much he means that. Sometimes he thinks his magic will tear him apart in shrieking joy with what he feels every time Derek tells him. The fact that they lived long enough to get to this point, to Derek feeling comfortable and Stiles feeling secure, sometimes makes him think that everything's been worth it. Things could have been a million times worse and they still would have been worth it.

"We could put up the decorations tomorrow," Derek says. "Or I could do it on Monday while you're at school." 

Stiles hums. He puts his hands over Derek's, leans back into Derek's hold, watches Christmas tree lights blink on, off, on, off. "Maybe the white lights outside," he says. "The icicle ones?" 

Derek moves his head just enough to rub his nose on Stiles' neck. "Not the white and blue ones? Those are your favourite." 

"Not -- not this year," Stiles says. He swallows, bites his lower lip, carefully disentangles himself from Derek. "I'm -- I have grading to do." 

He's halfway to the bedroom they converted into an office when Derek says, "No one will do anything, y'know. I won't let them." Stiles stops, can feel his shoulders tensing up, and has to make a concerted effort to breathe normally. 

"I -- yeah," Stiles says. He starts walking again. It's one of the hardest things he's done in a while. 

\--

Dad's at the house when Stiles gets home from school on Wednesday. He's sitting at the kitchen table, cup of coffee between his hands. Derek's car was outside but he's nowhere to be seen. 

"Ah," Stiles says, mildly. "Intervention." 

"I want my sufganiyot this year," his dad says. "And I don't want to have to buy them from Mrs. Litzmann. She makes them with _prunes_ , Stiles." Stiles grimaces because -- yeah, hers are more like a punishment than a celebration. He takes off his coat and loosens his tie, drops his bags by the door and gets a bottle of juice out of the fridge before sitting down across from his dad. "Derek says you're scared. That you smell scared, anyway; he says you're not talking to him. What's going on, kid?" 

Stiles picks at the juice label. "I don't -- I'm not -- I can't," he finally says. "Not this year." 

He gets up, puts the juice back in the fridge, stands there at a little bit of a loss. 

"Nothing's going to happen," his dad says. 

Stiles turns, looks at him. In a sharp, cutting tone, he asks, "How many deputies are you posting at Beth Israel this weekend?" His dad winces; Stiles makes a gesture as if to say, ' _See_?' 

"No one will do anything, Stiles." Stiles looks away, looks back at the fridge door and the magnets fighting for space. "Has -- has someone done something?" his dad asks. "Has someone _said_ something? Because if they have, you can tell -- we can do something about it." 

As the son of the sheriff, an emissary to a stable pack, and with an army of elementary school kids who love him, Stiles is probably one of the safest people in the county. And yet. 

And yet. 

"Just -- not this year," Stiles says. "Thanks for stopping by." He heads upstairs, then, and doesn't come out of the bathroom until he hears his dad leave. 

\--

The first night of Hanukkah arrives. Stiles is already in bed. He makes sure he's in bed before sunset for the next week. Derek doesn't fight it, doesn't try and stop him. He just goes to bed with Stiles, holds Stiles tight when Stiles wants to be held and leaves him alone when he doesn't. 

On New Year's Eve, Stiles wakes up in the morning and rolls over, snuggles up close to Derek. "Sorry," he says, voice sleep-worn and tired. "But thank you." 

"Next year," Derek says. 

Stiles presses a kiss to Derek's arm. "Yeah," he says. He's not holding out much hope but he's willing to believe in Derek's optimism -- for now.


End file.
